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“It’s Lawless, honey,” she says, handing out the drinks to the people sitting next to me.
“Lawless?”
“That’s right,” she answers, flashing me a beautiful smile, her brown hair flowing in wavy curls around her pretty face. It’s as if she’s time-traveled here from the 1940s with her red lipstick and blue dress. She’s like a pin-up babe they used to paint on World War Two airplanes.
“You look familiar. Have we met?” she asks, one hand on her hip, holding up the tray with her other.
“No, I don’t think we have. I’m Alice,” I tell her.
Her eyes go big like she recognizes me. She shakes my hand. Her nails are painted bright red. “Imogen. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too. This place is breathtaking,” I say, taking in the band, the people dancing, the constant buzz, and the bottles of moonshine standing on the tables all around.
She nods, a proud look on her face as she scans the packed room.
“Do you make the alcohol here?”
Smiling, she says, “Right on site. I bartend on Friday and Saturday night and work the books during the week. The guys have a big distillery on the property. They own it themselves and have another brewery in Seattle. They opened it after the first one in Los Angeles.”
Her eyes light up when she sees Nathan walk through the double doors, deep in conversation with Navarone. Rone slaps him on his shoulder and they laugh, making their way back to us.
“You mean Rone and Nathan?” I ask her, although I think I already know the answer.
“Yes, they own the joint,” she says, holding her tray up higher.
“What the ...” My breath catches in the back of my throat.
“Hi, Imogen,” Navarone says, hugging her. “You look good.”
Nathan rubs at the back of his neck, tension radiating from his body.
She beams up at Rone. “Hi, boss.”
Navarone grins before winking at me and I can’t help it when my face splits in two. Shit, I haven’t felt like this in a long time. My hands are clammy and my heart rate picks up, just from staring at him.
Nathan looks uncomfortable, his jaw clenching, and he’s still not smiling. “A couple of tables need busting, Imogen,” he orders, voice gruff. Still, I see something flash in his eyes when he stares at the beautiful woman standing next to Navarone.
She in turn has eyes for him. But her smile falls when she notices Nathan’s scowl. She lays her hand on my shoulder, pinching me a little. “Don’t be a stranger. It was lovely talking to you.”
“I won’t,” I promise her.
“Bye, Navarone,” she says, smiling bright. “Nathan.” She nods, her smile wavering.
Nathan watches her leave with something I would call longing in his eyes.
“I’ll be in the back,” he mumbles, turning to Navarone. “Nice to meet you, Alice,” he says, nodding again before walking over to the oak bar, like the ones in those old-time saloons.
Navarone’s cheeks turn rosy when he takes a seat next to me, a shy, slow smile tugging on his lips. The hipster waiter sets a bowl of taco chips, with enough guacamole to feed ten, in front of us. “Here you go, sir.”
“Thanks, Danny. Dig in,” Rone says to me.
“Why didn’t you tell me you own Ain’t My Fault?” I ask.
He gives me a look. “It didn’t come up. What do you think about the taco’s?” he asks, changing the subject and pointing to the plate.
I take a bite and I moan, “This is so good.” I eat another taco. This has always been my favorite food: tacos, beers, and on special occasions, moonshine.
My heart skips a beat, knowing Rone hasn’t forgotten after all these years. He chuckles, taking a bite himself.
